


gonna make it to the moon if i have to crawl

by easystreets



Series: North Dakota [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s12e10 Dennis' Double Life, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Therapy, Things Get Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easystreets/pseuds/easystreets
Summary: A year after leaving Philly to raise Brian, Dennis attends a therapy session and reflects.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Mac McDonald & Dee Reynolds & Dennis Reynolds & Frank Reynolds, Mac McDonald & Dennis Reynolds, Mandy (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia) & Dennis Reynolds
Series: North Dakota [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070816
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	gonna make it to the moon if i have to crawl

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of eating disorders, mental illness, vague self-harm and just... all of Dennis. Enjoy! This fic is very near and dear to my heart, as is Dennis. Please comment if you have Big Feelings about him.

_“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.”_

  
_― John Steinbeck, East of Eden_

* * *

The therapist Mandy makes him see once had an appointment booked every Monday and Thursday morning for Dennis Reynolds. Now, the appointments have dwindled to one every other Monday morning and he shows up sober all of the time instead of only buzzed on occasion. 

This is what she defines as progress. 

“Good morning,” the therapist says. He works nights; he’s exhausted, to be honest, in a terrible mood so that the cup of coffee in his hands is rattling even before he puts it down. Every Sunday night, Mac phones Mandy from Philadelphia. This is why the Monday morning appointment.

“Yeah,” Dennis says. The sky outside is a disgustingly bright pink. The frost on the window quite frankly disturbs him and reminds him that he’ll have to shovel the driveway at least twice today; that Mandy’s car needs new all-seasons, Brian’s jacket was looking the slightest bit too short when he zipped it up this morning before play-school. “I need a drink-- I _want_ a drink so bad.”

“Why’s that, Dennis?” There’s a lot of why’s. He stares out the window and wills himself to wait for his coffee to cool down, so that he doesn’t burn his tongue and spit Folger’s all over the cheerful yellow corduroy couch he’s sitting uncomfortably on. “Is there a specific reason, or?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. There’s one _why_ : being honest and good is a lot of work. Terrifying, horrible work that hurts. And it’s not even like it pays off: when you let the guy in front of you merge into your lane, the people behind you get pissed off; sometimes he does the dishes and vacuums and all Mandy notices is the dust on the windowsill and the toys scattered in the living room. “I just… it would make everything so much easier. Like, Mac’s call last night? Dee and Charlie were there-- Dee’s my sister and Charlie’s my friend, you know, I’ve discussed them before. Charlie, um, might be my step-brother, we… we never figured that out-- and they were in the bar, or whatever. And I just…”

“Yes, Dennis?”

“I miss it.” Okay, he doesn’t miss it. “Well, not all of it.” He absentmindedly takes a sip of his coffee and burns his tongue. “Ow.” Another bad thing: suddenly, all the shit he did to just get by is “self-destructive” and “not conducive to recovery”. He can’t, in good conscience, revel in his hurt. No more flicking a lighter over his hands so that he can feel something. Instead they have a list of Helpful Behaviors To Cope With Adverse Emotions on the refrigerator. When he wants to drive to the nearest bar and drink himself dead, the posters on his wall (“THINK BEFORE YOU ACT”) and the guilting photo of Brian in his wallet dissuade him. And the six month AA chip, which is admittedly juvenile but works, is a solid reminder bulging out of the leather of his wallet. “I just…”

On days like today, he wants to wake up in dirty, sweaty sheets and kick a girl out of his and Mac’s apartment before the sun’s even risen. He wants to stumble, hungover and dreary into Mac’s bed. Mac. Mac half-asleep and pliant, grabbing him a glass of stillwater and Advil and shushing him into bed. He wants to wake up for the second time that day, Mac’s hands surprisingly gentle as they rouse him awake, wants to shower and brush his teeth and do his makeup as Mac tells him about their big plans for the day. _Bro, we’re going to hotwire the Waitress’s new used Buick, wanna come?_ To not eat all morning and take sips from the creme de menthe he keeps in the console of the Rover at red lights. _Den, we gotta go bail Dee and Frank out, yeah, something to do with a mannequin in Macy’s, dude, let’s go._ To go to the bar and feel the dying lightbulbs beaming down onto his face and smell the concentrated lemon cleaner Charlie sprayed everything with and feel so perfectly at home, like this was where he was meant to be, that this was it, that he was Dennis fucking _Reynolds_ , confident and handsome and really part of something. _Hey man, I found that Red Hot Chili Peppers mix tape you made me, wanna listen to it on the way home?_ He wants to eat Mac’s shitty cooking and watch the stupid YouTube videos Dee would make in the living room of their place because it was the only place she could find good lighting. _Dude, I just found the funniest tape Charlie and I made, no, no it’s not Project Badass, come on, let’s watch it?_ To hear Charlie sing a song as he made streak marks with a dirty cloth all over the glasses, to watch Frank absolutely embarrass himself in front of a college girl before swooping in and totally winning her over and fucking her in the back room. He had a system and everything. It’s not like his life before he decided to be good was some wholly terrible thing. It’s not like he _doesn’t_ want to go back.

“I know it was bad. For me and for the rest of them. And I was… was in a bad spot.” Dennis wishes he had a cigarette so badly right now, just something for him to hold in his hands. “But there are good memories too. I made-- uh, we threw Charlie this worm themed party once.” And the party was for Frank. And he cried on the drive home and made Mac look at his dick because some absolutely fucked part of his subconscious was worried that it actually had fallen off. These are the things his brain chooses to omit. “And, once my sister, Dee, she had a baby for this trann-- transgender woman we knew. That was pretty nice.” And he’d been mad at her for months after-- how _dare_ she ruin herself like that; how dare she do something so monumental without telling him she was going to, he didn’t like change and she could have fucking died. And he’d been terrified-- he can admit it now-- that she would keel over during labor or decide to keep the baby and become this entirely different person that wasn’t his to know anymore. “Oh! And all of us, and this chick we hung with, Artemis, we put on a musical. That was good.” And Charlie had been molested. And so had he and the makeup from the show had stung as he cried it off.

“You can still enjoy what you once had, Dennis,” the therapist says. “Have you made any contact with your friends recently? I know we discussed it last session. Perhaps you could talk about these positive memories with them.”

Contact is iffy. Dee’s supposed to come down in the spring. So, that’s something. Not that they call much, but she texts him now. Little things, like “Hey, Dennis. Are these your jeans or mine?” or photos of Charlie and her at comedy shows or playing at playgrounds. Sometimes they’re with a dog, sometimes Mac is in the background and his heart jumps a little. Frank and him call sometimes, just to talk about Frank’s “grandson” and how Frank wants to do things “the right way” this time, which apparently means a shit ton of toys being shipped to their house every holiday, even the obscure ones. Mac, well, Mac calls Mandy. That’s kind of it.

“I might call my best friend from home.” Mac’s birthday is slowly inching up. Today is the one year anniversary of Dennis leaving, and Dennis remembers quite clearly Mac’s disappointed voice: so you’ll miss my birthday? “Um. I wanted to visit-- Mandy wants to take Bri and make a vacation out of it, but it might be too much too soon. I might try emailing my sister tonight. Oh! I sent my apologies to them a month ago. Dee and Charlie got back to me, and Frank, so, I think it went pretty well.”

The rest of the session makes him feel slightly better. His coffee is cool enough to drink when he leaves, but warm enough to run hot down his throat and comfort him against the cold. He even takes a peppermint from the receptionist.

That, then, is being better: feeling like shit but going anyway. Or something close to that, he thinks. Knowing the past and not trying to make a home for yourself in it. Forgiving yourself, which really, despite the posters about shame and guilt plastered in the lobby of his therapist’s room, is difficult as shit and not relieving or fun or simple. Getting past the withdrawals and tremors and nightmares and being left with what? With yourself.

Dennis… Dennis isn’t sure who he is. He lies awake in bed staring at the ceiling a lot. Or with his finger hovering over the phone number for Paddy’s. He hates eating dinner and still pushes his food around on his plate before he can bring himself to eat it. When him and Mandy watch movies on the weekends, he always vetoes the action ones or anything Mac would want to watch because the Mac thing--- the Mac thing is something he’s working on.

But. But he’s better than last year, intangibly so. Outwardly, he debatably looks worse: he’s gained a scant amount of weight; he’s stopped hiding the various scars and any blemishes with foundation. His face is colourless from the lack of booze, and his hands only finally stopped shaking a handful of weeks ago. The clothes he wears are cheap and he works as a receptionist at a fucking dog kennel. But he somehow feels… good. Not always, only sometimes, but it’s there, in bright glints of joy when he makes snow angels with Brian or hums along to Winwood songs on the radio.

So. Dennis buys him and Mandy fancy bullshit coffee from Starbucks. He doesn’t even look at the calories; he even adds a child-sized hot chocolate for Brian onto the order. He picks up Brian and asks him about his morning: good, yeah, Daddy had a good morning too, that was very polite of you to ask, Bri. They play Legos in the living room until Mandy comes home from work and then it’s time for him to go, so he packs up his laptop. Maybe he’ll email his sister. Or even call Mac back one of these days.

He’s making progress. 

* * *

From: [ dennisreynolds@hotmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@hotmail.com)

To: [ itzdeebitches@gmail.com ](mailto:itzdeebitches@gmail.com)

Subject: apology 

Dear Dee,

I am very sorry for some of my behavior in the past and the harm it may have caused you. This includes the insults I said to you over the years or any sort of rude behaviour towards you. I wish you all the best in your future and understand if you’d like some space from me.

From: [ itzdeebitches@gmail.com ](mailto:itzdeebitches@gmail.com)

Re: apology

WTF are you like dying of cancer? Is this like a drunk apology thing? Mandy said you were on new meds...

From: [ dennisreynolds@hotmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@hotmail.com)

Re: apology

YES. This is a therapy assignment. I thought you of all people would know what one is. No offense or anything. And WTH Mandy.

From: [ itzdeebitches@gmail.com ](mailto:itzdeebitches@gmail.com)

Re: apology

Oh. So you’re actually doing the therapy thing? 

From: [ dennisreynolds@hotmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@hotmail.com)

Re: apology

Yes.

From: [ itzdeebitches@gmail.com ](mailto:itzdeebitches@gmail.com)

Good for you. I mean it. 

  
  


From: [ dennisreynolds@hotmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@hotmail.com)

To: [ charkells19@gmail.com ](mailto:charkells19@gmail.com)

Dear Charlie,

~~I am sorry my previous behaviour and actions and how they may have affected you.~~

I am sorry for being an asshat to you. You aren’t actually that dumb. Dee, since I know you check his email for him, please read it out loud. Buddy, I’m sorry. I hope you finally learn how to read and become a lawyer or whatever makes you happy. You were a really good friend and I miss you lots. 

From: [ charkells19@gmail.com ](mailto:charkells19@gmail.com)

To: [ dennisreynolds@gmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@gmail.com)

Hey Dennis.

It is Charlie!!!!!! I cant read that much but I am lerning. Dee is trying to tech me. She is a relay good techer. She misses u a lot but we are both trying hard to be god at lives because that is what your trying to do. It is sometimes very deficlt. But we ar tryin. I dont want to be a lawyer anymoar I dont think. Maybee. One day at a tim u kno??? Life is wierd.

PS U R still my friend even if u dont live in philly. U will always bee part of the gang.

To: [ frankiefrank42069@hotmail.com ](mailto:frankiefrank42069@hotmail.com)

From: [ dennisreynolds@gmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@gmail.com)

Hey, Frank.

It’s Dennis. I just wanted to apologize for some of my behaviour in the past. I am sorry for any harm to you I may have caused. You were sometimes a bad dad but, really, I don’t want to be mad at you forever. You’re welcome in mine and Brian’s life as long as ~~you don’t pull any fake out shit as long as~~ you are respectful. I had fun doing schemes with you.

Dennis

Hey Dennis. Using voice to text because I broke my piece of sheet piece of shit come on you stupid phone glasses. I will fly down dare there one of these days when it stops being cold as bowls as bowls as balls. You don’t got to be sorry. We were were having a good time. Send message. Send message. Send message. Send message you stupid piece of shit phone Deandra come help me this piece of shit garbage Apple junk wont send a massage message see aw Frank turn off voice to text see it’s easy now press send

From: [ dennisreynolds@gmail.com ](mailto:dennisreynolds@gmail.com)

To: macmcdonald@projectbadass.com

Dear Mac,

I’m sorry. About everything. I hope you’re not upset I didn’t want to raise Brian with you! I did. It was just something I had to do for myself and I think you understand that, Mac. I am sorry about being an ass to you about your being gay. You were an excellent roommate ~~or whatever we were~~. If you ever want to come visit, I think Mandy would be fine with that. And I think I would too. Brian always talks about his Uncle Mac. He thinks you’re pretty great. Me too. Anyway. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me, not in a Jesus way but hopefully in a Mac way. I miss you, man. I miss us, you know? I can send you my new phone number if you want. I am sorry about the one I gave you. I’m just sorry, okay? 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is so strange, but Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chili Peppers is my recovery song (and where the title of this fic comes from, lol). Or my deciding-to-be-better-to-myself song. It isn't even-- musically, at least, in my uneducated opinion-- THAT good of a song. But fuck if it doesn't accurately describe that bittersweet-lonely feeling that comes with trying to be good. What is your soundtrack to recovery? Or just your life in general?


End file.
